A Little Bit Subtle
by sky tulips
Summary: They say the jealous are troublesome to others but a torment to themselves. In Romano's case, however, it's probably the other way round. Romano/England and Romano/Spain. One-shot.


**a little bit subtle.**

_hetalia (c) hidekaz himaruya_

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* * *

_It was the third time that month that England and France had come over Spain's house for lunch. To be completely honest, Romano wasn't sure why they fucking bothered. _He _certainly didn't want them there. Alone, they were both intolerable - England with his crass _British-ness_ and France with all that perverted nonsense he liked to lavish upon everyone he happened to meet. Together, however, they were downright detestable, always arguing about the most trivial of things and beating each other up, making a mess. For example, last time they had come over, they had decided to debate, of all damn things, what style of jodhpurs were the most suitable to ride a horse in and well, of course that particular argument _had _to be resolved with fisticuffs. After all, jodhpurs were clearly at the very fucking centre of all the great, eternal questions of our universe, weren't they? They were ridiculous and loud and why the _hell_ did Spain always let them come over? Fair enough, Spain and France were neighbours so Romano could let that slide - but did England really have to visit too? Weren't England and France supposed to hate each other? Despite the fact that, as everybody knew, they'd been fucking since _at least _1904 if not earlier (and the way England ardently protested such claims, it was obvious 'earlier' meant centuries and centuries). It was completely and utterly unbelievable.

It was summer (and such a hot one that Romano had wanted to take an early siesta - but apparently it was 'rude' to take one when you had company - whatever) so Spain had taken to making large pots of gazpacho soup. Though Romano wouldn't admit this to him, Spain's gazpacho was especially delicious - chopped tomatoes, extra pepper, half a cucumber, a dash of olive oil and a sprinkling of garlic all chilled with ice to keep it extra fresh and refreshing. However, today, Romano couldn't bring himself to enjoy it. He wasn't the only one, either. England had stirred the soup with his spoon for all of two seconds and then decided it was 'too lumpy' for his tastes and returned to reading the newspaper. 'Too lumpy'? Romano was tempted to remind England of the time he'd visited _his _house and received a scrap of what was supposed to be 'pudding' drowned in cold, thick off-yellow custard. Why remind him of this particular culinary jaunt? Because the custard was fucking lumpy. Honestly. _Englishmen_. No - that wasn't it. The soup wasn't too lumpy. Romano had lost his appetite for a much different reason.

Across from him, France and Spain had also barely touched their lunch. That was because they were, as it happened, much too interested in _each other_. While Romano and England were sitting at opposite ends of _their _couch, barely even acknowledging each other what with England being too busy brushing up on the local news and sipping tea and Romano being too interested in watching France's wandering hands, France and Spain were comfortably perched in the very centre of the couch across the table like a pair of moronic, grinning lovebirds. Every so often, France would lean in ever so slightly and whisper something as-soft-as-a-lullaby in Spain's ear and Spain would bring a hand to his mouth and laugh sincerely. Their crossed legs overlapping, ankles intertwined, France would bring a hand down to rest upon Spain's knee or let his fingertips linger on Spain's thigh for _far_ too fucking long than circumstance called for and -

"Aren't they driving you insane?" Romano turned to his not-so-occupied guest, all but fuming.

England looked up from his newspaper slowly and sipped his tea before turning to Romano.

"What?" he asked and Romano sighed in frustration.

"The way they're behaving!" he exclaimed incredulously, "Isn't it annoying you as well?"

England glanced over at France and his host for a second before turning back to Romano, a blank expression on his face.

"Eh? Don't they always act like that?" England asked, "Or am I missing something?"

"Useless!" Romano snapped and let a rather bewildered England resume perusing the thrilling goings-on of the London stock exchange.

See, the thing was, Romano didn't _get_ jealous. France and Spain were merely _stupid _and _ridiculous _and if there were two qualities Romano couldn't stand in a person, those would be the two. Romano hated idiots and he just so happened to be sitting opposite the two biggest idiots he'd ever met in his life. _That's_ what was getting him so agitated - make no question about that. In fact, he was contemplating dumping his gazpacho right over Spain's worthless head or telling France and England to get the fuck out before he sold them to the mafia _or _just getting up and going _home _because their lunacy was probably freaking _contagious_ and -

France leaned over, parted his lips a fraction and kissed Spain gently on the cheekbone and Spain grinned and returned the gesture and it was around this time that Romano felt some kind of invisible switch he didn't even know he _had_ be flipped on from somewhere inside of him. His usual bouts of frustration had nothing on this - a wild, blind uncontrollable fit of frenzy that made him lose sense of all things going on around him and _oh_, how he lost his fucking sense.

"Right," he heard himself say, "That's it." and he moved, quick-as-a-fucking-firecracker, to the other side of the couch, grabbed England by the shoulder, whirled him round violently to face him and kissed him. It wasn't a particularly sophisticated kiss, either. He didn't so much part his lips but just smash them against England's. If anything, he wasn't so much kissing him but just mashing their faces together in a stint of his own insanity. Realising this, Romano attempted to tilt his head to the side and make the kiss more, well, like a _kiss_ but England was attempting to say something and trying to wriggle away and Romano cast his eyes over at France and Spain and _they hadn't even fucking realised _- the bastards.

So Romano broke off the 'kiss' and placed his free hand on England's other shoulder and pushed him down towards the couch and as he did so, England dropped his teacup, causing it to shatter on the floor and shouted "What the buggering _fuck _are you playing at, Romano?" but Romano simply slid his leg over England's stomach so he was kneeling over him and used England's flabbergasted, gaping mouth as an opportunity to kiss him fucking _properly _because _damn_ he had their attention now. He could just _imagine _Spain's face. Romano smirked into the kiss and balled his fists at England's shoulders, crinkling the white fabric of his shit. Then, with a strangely triumphant smile, he turned to look across the table.

But Spain? Spain merely looked a touch bemused - grinning his lopsided, I-don't-really-know-what-the-hell-is-going-on grin and scratching the back of his neck, as if he were searching for something to say. And France? Well. France just looked downright fucking _lewd_. There was an odd spark in his eye and a blush on his cheeks that Romano didn't particularly like. Romano felt his grip tighten on England's shoulders and England began to try and clutch at the sofa, clawing at the sides and trying to get out from underneath the psychopath formerly known as Romano.

"Are you pausing because you want us to leave you two alone or because you want us to join in? Because if it's the former, I ardently refuse unless it's to go get some state-of-the-art recording equipment and if it's the latter, then, we incline wholeheartedly!" France said, letting out a laugh that could only really be described as a perverted snort.

Romano took a moment to observe the outcome of his act. Spain was seemingly unaffected and he'd just succeeded in turning France on - the lousy, deviant bastard. Frankly, this was shaping up to be one of the lowest points in his life and so, for the second time that early afternoon, Romano lost it. England and France were out on their asses before England could say 'What the _fuck _just happened?' and Romano tossed his bowl of gazpacho at Spain just for good measure (it missed and hit the wall but that was beside the point).

"What are you _doing _Lovi?" Spain scolded "That was good soup! Fresh tomatoes and everything!"

"I don't give a rat's ass about the soup, you moron!" Romano shouted, throwing his arms in the air.

"Then what's this about?" Spain asked, putting his hands on his hips, "Do you _like _England? Because if you do, you really shouldn't have thrown him -"

"No I don't fucking _like_ England!" Romano yelled, starting to cry, "I hate him almost as much as I hate you!"

"Eh? What did I do?" Spain now looked thoroughly hurt but, quite frankly, Romano couldn't bring himself to care, "Did you _want_ France to go get recording equipment?"

"No! You fucker!"

And England, France and Spain's soup joined Romano's on the wall.

* * *

"_Angleterre_, you look flushed." France commented to his companion.

"Just," England paused, as if trying to find the right word, "Confused."

"You enjoyed that, didn't you?" France smirked a little too eagerly.

"No! What the hell - Why did he even do that?" England asked, running his hand down his face in exhaustion.

"You poor, dense creature," France shook his head, "He was trying to make _cher _Antonio jealous."

"Eh? With me?" England asked in surprise.

"As odd as it sounds, _mon cher_." France patted England on the back.

"That's...slightly ridiculous." England puffed out his cheeks and folded his arms, suddenly feeling so..._used_.

"Romano isn't exactly subtle and he didn't get the result he wished for but I wouldn't say the whole thing was a complete failure." France laughed.

"How so?" England was genuinely intrigued.

"You're so adorable when you're confused, _Angleterre_," France kissed England on the cheek, "Let's just say, for a certain someone, it had a certain outcome."

"You were turned on by it, weren't you?" England sighed.

"_Oui_."

"You're appalling."

* * *

Approximately twenty-seven hours later, when Romano had almost definitely calmed down and was helping pick tomatoes for the next gazpacho batch, the penny finally dropped for Spain.

"Aah! Lovi! You were jealous! You were jealous I was paying more attention to France during lunch than I was you -"

"_Christ_ you're slow - I mean, fuck no I wasn't, damn it!"


End file.
